Second Chance - Aftermath
by ChestnutBrumby
Summary: Early Abbie x Ichabod, the first in several fics based around this pair - features some missing scenes from the show, a lot I've made up entirely, probably more non-canon than canon as time goes by. The final chapter - New Year's Eve - is up!
1. Wounded soldier

**A/N It was only a matter of time, and not a great deal of that, before I succumbed to shipping these two. I've already got a heap of little ficlets and ideas scribbled in my notes for Abbie and Ichabod, so this could well progress further. Will likely deviate from canon with each new episode. Consider yourself warned, and proceed with caution.**

**This particular snippet is set after Episode 0.8 'Necromancer'.**

**...It was supposed to be SHORT, dammit.**

* * *

Ichabod Crane was not a man who had been raised to show his discomfort, and indeed he barely paid any heed to the pain at first. Realizing that his oldest enemy had once been his dearest companion, before the branding and the sorcery, had taken it's toll. Sitting with Abbie and her direct manner of not allowing him to wallow, of calling him out any time he tried to swing the blame back to himself, helped. Abbie was easy to be with, not only because she was his fellow witness, but because she was straightforward and honest.

Maybe it was more than he deserved.

Her offer to drive him home he accepted with an affirmative murmur, and they drove in silence. Abbie knew him well enough by now to know when to give him his space, and deep down Ichabod was afraid that if he did force himself into conversation with her sooner or later he'd glimpse disappointment in her eyes.

He hadn't handled tonight all that well, and he wasn't proud of himself now.

He had registered and dismissed the throbbing around his neck and the aching spot on the back of his head by the time they pulled up to the cabin, but his mind barely lingered for a moment as it returned to processing the capture and interrogation of the Horseman (Of _Abraham_, insisted his rationality, but it was still too difficult a name to give to their headless foe).

Abbie, however, had the sharp eye for detail of her profession, and it was she who first noticed. "Crane!" She exclaimed, reaching a hand towards him, eyes wide. He startled, drawn back to the current time and off beat at the concern in her voice. Then her fingertips grazed his neck and his concern grew for an altogether different reason.

"Your _neck_." Her fingertips rasped lightly over his beard, lifting his chin gently so she could see better in the low light from the car interior and the stars outside, dim now with the approaching dawn. Ichabod held himself completely still - he didn't even think he was breathing. Abbie leaned closer, gaze intense now as she took in the extent of the bruising she had spied around his neck.

"The Horseman did this to you? Why didn't you say anything!" There was the familiar scolding undertone in her voice that was so well-known to Ichabod.

"It was of little consequence at the time." He muttered feebly, unable to summon any great will to pull away from her touch. As if this evening wasn't already complicated enough, now his body - he refused to think heart - were betraying him for his _partner _of all people.

_You are still a married man, Ichabod Crane, and no matter how much you miss Katrina, you will not replace her with Abbie_, he reminded himself sternly. His marital status aside, the last thing Abbie needed right now was any indecent behavior from him. Particular when earlier he had insisted on finding a way to get Katrina back, despite the fact he had no idea how.

Abbie dropped her hand and was out of the car before he could blink. "In the cabin, I can't see properly out here." She ordered. Ichabod could understand the sentiment. He often had trouble seeing properly when Abbie was concerned.

She was _different_ from the woman of his time. She was plucky and stubborn and wry in ways that he didn't realize a woman could be, in ways that made him want to ask a thousand questions of her so that he might understand just a little better how her mind worked.

Of all the people in this strange present he had found himself, he was glad that he had her to face the future with.

"Crane!" Now she was impatient, and well she might since he was still sitting statue-like in the passenger seat. She stalked back to pull him out by the wrist, though with some gentleness. "You didn't hit your head, did you?"

"Well..." He had, but was trying to come up with an inventive and belivable lie. Abbie made an exasperated noise and towed him towards the cabin. "We had a whole conversation earlier after all this mess and you neglected to tell me you might be hurt?

"Lieutenant, I feel perfectly fine."

"Head injuries can have delayed reactions you know." She continued to grumble as if he had never spoken as she let him sit on the couch and released the arm of his coat. "I ought to take you straight to hospital."

"No!" Ichabod couldn't contain the alarm in his voice and without thinking his own fingers locked around Abbie's tiny wrist to stop her. "No hospitals." After his short stay in a mental institution and the plague incident, modern hospitals were not Ichabod's favourite place of this era. Abbie paused for a moment, evaluating his expression and sighing when she caved in to the pleading note in those blue eyes.

"Okay, but you have to let me take a look. First things first..."

She bustled about bringing supplies, better light, then getting the fire started. It was a few hours until dawn and still chilly, and the flame's heat was welcome. Ichabod knew he ought to protest Abbie arranging everything herself but the weariness of the night and the encroaching pain had caught up to him and so he sat and watched the trancelike flames crackling in the fireplace.

"Are you sure you're okay, Crane? You look a bit... glazed." She finished after searching for a term that he would both understand and take no offense to.

"I feel fine. If I appear 'glazed' it's more to be the emotional strain of the night rather than the physical." He muttered, as Abbie plopped down on the couch beside him, a little too close for his slightly frayed nerves to be comfortable. A moment later she was lifting his head to inspect his neck again, fingers light at first. "There's going to be a lot of bruising. How long did he have you by the neck?" She questioned, applying light pressure around his adam's apple as she probed to discover the extent of the damage. Ichabod winced slightly for a reason that had nothing to do with pain. "I don't rightly recall." Ichabod admitted unwillingly, averting his eyes. He was very, very aware of how close she was sitting next to him. He could feel the warmth from her body and the nudge of a knee up against his leg. He jumped a moment later as the warm pressure of Abbie's fingers upon his neck was replaced by something ice-cold from the supplies she had beside her. "Sorry. It'll help stop the bruising colouring up too badly. Though I still think you're going to be black and blue tomorrow." Abbie patted the cold washcloth into place. "Keep your head tilted up."

Ichabod only had a second to relax when she got up from the couch and he could gather his wits about him. The next thing he knew she was standing behind him, fingers in his hair. "Where does it hurt?" Her voice had lost all of the scolding tone now. Ichabod swallowed. "Towards the back, on the left." He briefly tapped the throbbing area of his skull that already threatened a hell of a headache, and he felt rather than saw Abbie nod behind him. "Hold on."

She unwound the leather tie that kept the majority of his hair out of his face and gently combed it to one side with her fingers. Ichabod forced himself to let out his breath normally. Abbie was close enough to spot any momentary lapse in his body language, and he would not bring up, tonight of all nights the way he responded to her.

_It is naught more than loneliness, a mere physical reaction_, he swore to himself, but he didn't have the heart to believe his own lie. Yes, he missed Katrina greatly, but this wasn't just projecting the feelings he had for his wife onto the next closest thing he had in this era. Abbie wasn't Katrina.

It was so hard to concentrate on anything except how wonderful it felt to have her hands in his hair.

"Yep. You've got a bump." Her deft fingers checked over the impact of his head on the ground where the Horseman had thrown him against the cement, then she nodded to herself. To the tiniest bit of disappointment, she dropped her hands and came back to sit by him, not quite so close this time now there was no need to examine him. "You were lucid enough earlier, so I'm not going to drag your ass to the hospital. But I am staying here tonight."

He couldn't figure out what to say but there must have been alarm in his expression because she waved a hand dismissively. "Don't start all the high-handed chivalry and decency speeches, Crane. I'm sleeping on the couch and waking you up every second hour to make sure you're conscious, and so help you if I have to call an ambulance for you, so you _better_ be fine."

He managed a meek nod. There was no arguing with her in this mood. He did have to protest one point. "Lieutenant, I couldn't possible allow you to sleep on the couch when there was a perfectly good bed in the sleeping chambers-"

She held up a hand to cut him off again. "No way does all six feet of you fit on this couch, and besides, you're the one with a head injury and the imprint of a headless horseman's fingerprints around your neck. Get into that bedroom and get your first two hour's sleep. I'm already timing." She pointed for emphasis at the bedroom then tapped her watch.

Another battle he wasn't likely to win.

"Very well." He muttered unwillingly as he rose to his feet, handing her back the cold washcloth. Though he was more than ready for bed Ichabod couldn't resist annoying Abbie just a tiny bit, and he leaned in towards her, blocking her way towards the kitchen with an arm braced on the wall.

"By the way, Miss Mills? I'm six foot _one_." He managed with a small, smug smile.


	2. Early Hours

**Later the same night... **

* * *

Abbie touched the screen of her phone and brought a low light up as she stepped into the cabin's bedroom. A sigh came from Ichabod where he lay on the bed, one arm folded under his head, and his blue eyes inched opened unwillingly. "My name is Ichabod Bennet Crane, it's obscenely early on a Friday morning in the year 2013, _which _I might add is several dozen decades past my birth year, and I've no sign whatsoever of concussion." He recited huffily, his tone making Abbie smile. "Alright, you're okay. Go back to sleep." The phone went black, casting the room into the same lack of light. Abbie had turned for the door when Ichabod's voice came out of the darkness.

"Miss Mills?"

"Hmm?"

"I am grateful."

"Ha, me too, Crane. Hauling your grumpy ass to the hospital is not high on my to-do list, I can tell you. So it's no problem, really."

"I can assure you that my posterior is no more or less irritable than any other portion of my anatomy."

_He would take that literally_, Abbie thought, glad of the darkness to hide her smirk. The thought of Ichabod's rear end was a little too much for this early in the morning, and Abbie hastily pushed those thoughts aside.

"Never mind. But in all seriousness Crane, you have to tell me when stuff like this happens." Without really thinking about it, Abbie found herself moving back to sit on the edge of his bed, hearing the nervous shift of his body weight as she did so, moving into a sitting position. She reached out to brush his arm, her fingers lingering on his skin mere seconds, reassuring him. "We're partners, remember."

_Yes, he remembered_, Ichabod thought, swallowing nervously. No surprise for him, since he remembered everything, but just the same he had an all new level of recall where Abbie Mills was concerned. He remembered the first time she'd used that word in relation to him with perfect clarity. it had been at the car-yard, when they'd searched for the Mohawk Shaman during the Ro'kenhronteys battle. Abbie had introduced him as her partner.

A tiny part of his heart, perhaps the part not caught up in mourning for or yearning after Katrina, had leaped at being _her_ partner. Perhaps because the notion was so unexpected in accordance with his own 18th century values, but he had swiftly learned to overcome any discomfort in letting her guide him through in this new era.

_You only long to _belong _to Miss Mills because you've nowhere or no one else to belong to in this time_, Ichabod told himself.

"So you need to be honest with me. Please." Abbie finished. It was impossible not to agree. This gentle, concerned side of Abbie that Ichabod knew few others saw was much more difficult to refuse than Determined Abbie. It was impossible not to acknowledge that she made her request out of genuine concern for him. Difficult not to respond in kind.

His imagination, more vivid than it was in the daylight, ran away with him. Would she pull away he if settled an arm around her? What would her body feel like lined up with his, her head on his shoulder? He breath on his cheek?

_Get a hold of yourself, man_. "I do apologize, Miss Mills." In his head, he called her Abbie instead of the more formal title he usually employed, and in his head it sounded all the more intimate for the darkness. "It was not my intention to cause you undue worry."

Her hand found his - how did she do that in the dark? - and squeezed it gently. "I know you didn't. Remember, you're not on your own anymore, Crane. You can trust me."

It isn't you whom I do not trust. "I can only plead that my esteem in my own judgement is somewhat lacking in the wake of previous events."

"Mm, I can imagine. It's strange even for me to think about, all this time fighting the Horseman only for him to turn out to be an actual person that you knew... I can't say I can put myself in your shoes, Crane. But, I _do_ know what it's like to live with regret, and blame. My only advice is not to hold onto it for as long as I did. And... don't go through it on your own like I tried to."

For a long while they didn't speak, though the silence was comfortable, if tinged with sadness. They both had things they would have done differently, now.

"Next time, I will endeavor to communicate more effectively." Abbie almost laughed at that one. Ichabod Crane being any more effectively communicative than he already was... that would be a feat and a half.

"Next time, I'm not leaving you alone to be lured into reach of our mortal enemies." She snorted. "When are you going to learn to listen to me, anyway Crane? I told you back there not to loose your cool."

"What makes you imagine that I did?"

"Getting into swordfights with headless horsemen counts as losing your cool." Abbie pointed out.

"Hmm. A pity there were no crossbows close at hand. Maybe we shall have to rectify that next time." Abbie groaned at that. "_No crossbows_!"

His soft chuckle was soothing to her ears. He shifted slightly, and Abbie felt his leg brush her thigh. She stood up a little abruptly.

"I'll let you get back to sleep." It was sinking in how long she'd spent sitting on the edge of his bed. She'd probably been making him uncomfortable. _He's married, remember_. _And his wife could be making a comeback sometime soon._ Not anything that she wanted to think about, here in the night with the one person she had come to rely on so swiftly, and so totally.

The thought of loosing him now to his wife was a selfishly horrible thought.

He cleared his throat, taking a moment too long to speak. _Yep, he's uncomfortable_.

"I appreciate your checking in on me." Maybe it was the fact she couldn't see his annoyingly handsome face, but his voice sounded softer than usual.

"No problem." Her footsteps retreated from the room. Ichabod stayed sitting up in bed for a long moment, then dropped his head onto his arms.

He didn't feel in the least sleepy anymore.

* * *

**A/N -** **You guys win! Got such a great response in just one day that I couldn't help but continue this, and who could resist a little late-night bedroom chat?  
For those new to my writing, if you want to read more, there is no motivation better than simply letting me know with a review :) Every review now matter how long or short is deeply appreciated and the best fuel to the fire for me to write on.  
Couldn't resist giving Ichabod a middle name- we know Abbie's, and I'll be highly interested if we do hear Ichabod's in canon.**


	3. Alone

**A/N. I was of two minds about weather to post this chapter because it wound up containing a scene from 0.3, 'For the Triumph of Evil'. The next chapter I've written (It's 90% done, just needs me to proof and edit) could really fit anywhere timeline wise but the one I've outlined following _that_ would be set after 0.9. Which is going to put this fic all over the place, but it kinda had a mind of it's own when I was writing. I hope you guys like it anyway. **

* * *

Abbie had always been on her own.

At Thanksgiving, at Christmas, at all of those crappy family togetherness holidays. When the lights at her place flickered and went out, she had only herself to rely on to trek to the fuse box and get them working again. Same for when the car or the radiator wouldn't start up. She learned not to be scared of spiders or bugs that wound up inside her house, because it was _her_ who had to relocate them outside. It toughened her, gave her valuable tools she could put to use when she joined the police force and began to face foes worse than loneliness.

After her mother left them, she'd initially had Jenny as an ally, and the loss hadn't been as terrible because it was shared. But then came the day in the forest and four white trees, and with that came the rift between sisters that Abbie didn't know how to bridge. And so she'd grown up in the indifferent foster care system with guardians that "cared" only when the government stipend came once a month, and Abbie had learned. She'd learned toughness, and independence, and she had learned all too late which roads not to venture down in the dark.

Even the people she was meant to be close to, she'd kept at arm's length. First Corbin - the closest thing she had to family. Even he had been aware of the way she guarded herself, pushed away the people who loved her, because after all he'd never trusted her with his occult research now, had he? Then Luke, who seemed solid and dependable and been a good boyfriend but... when the time came to pack for Quantico Abbie knew it wasn't as difficult to say goodbye to him as it ought to have been. He was decent company, but she'd never loved him.

She'd regarded the world from behind her hardened, suspicious exterior, the one that made her such a good cop. Then the world as she'd known it had been ripped apart and was now rebuilt into something unfamiliar, where the pieces looked like they always had except for every now and again, the light refracted off them wrong. There were more ominous things than drug dealers and thieves lurking in the shadows, she knew that now. But she didn't have to face them on her own.

_Ichabod Crane._

Her fierce independence couldn't stand up to the way he'd threaded seamlessly into her life. How had she gone in an instant from thinking of him as 'annoying homeless crazy person' to something she couldn't live without?

"Mills, if your boy has to wander about town, can't you at least get him some normal clothes?" Irving begged of her one day. "I'm tired of trying to justify to the bridge club ladies or the chess players in the park why our newest consultant dresses like a wannabee pirate."

Abbie didn't really listen to much after the word _your_. (Irving wasn't happy unless he was complaining, anyway.)

_Your boy_. When, exactly, had Ichabod become Abbie's _your_?

It took a few weeks before patterns became established - it was hard to nail a routine down when you were spending a decent slice of your day battling demon hoards - but once it was Abbie had a hard time recalling the way she'd lived her life before.

The Archives was the safe ground, the neutral territory that belonged to them both but also neither of them. It was their workstation and they treated it with a utilitarian fondness, but it wasn't home, even if they both slept there every so often after a particularly draining night. There was too much darkness in the Archives, too many worrying answers researched within.

At least half the time, Ichabod slept in the cabin that had once belonged to Corbin and now was slowly coming to be known as Crane's. He seemed at home there, away from the buzz and activity of the city, and sometimes Abbie would arrive to find him sitting outside, face tilted towards the night sky, palms held outward as if he were soaking in being outdoors. They stocked up on basic supplies, packing away extra ammunition in case of siege.

Crane did hate to ask Abbie to make the roundabout drive out to the cabin, and after Abbie insisted he took the spare room at her place for the third night in as many weeks, Ichabod grew steadily more accustomed to sharing living space with Abbie.

She wasn't alone anymore.

The independence she was so fiercely reliant upon did not loosen its hold on Abbie easily, and she clung to it in turn, reluctant to acknowledge the truth. Yes, she needed Crane around, and spending so much time together was all but mandatory to defeat the minions of evil, but it wasn't easy for her to admit she _liked _having him around.

He was thoughtful. He was smart. He was stubborn and sweet and flattering and funny.

Most of all, he was _reliable_.

She first became aware of just how reliable during the Sandman debacle.

"So... if she dies in the dream..." Crane looked to the shaman for clarification.

"She dies. Period." He confirmed. Crane's head tilted slightly. "I see." He murmured, causing Abbie to avert her eyes. A rattle brought her focus back to Crane. He had strode to the bottle of potion, swept it up and gulped down an enormous mouthful, ignoring Abbie's protest.

"What are you thinking?" She growled at him while he sat there deconstructing the drink's ingredients, like he was critiquing a fine wine.

"Well, I'm coming with you now." Did he always have to be so damned _reasonable_? "So no point discussing it."

He really acted like it wasn't a big deal to him, either, though both of them sensed the enormity of what he had done for her.

A man who would follow you even in a nightmare world ruled by a demon... that was a man hard to resist.

Duncan and his mysteriously silent assistant left the room (How does one find people to fill these positions, Abbie wondered - 'Wanted, Shaman's assitant for underground Mohawk rituals, must not be squeamish about handling creepy crawlies?' The station could barely get a rookie to even _consider_ moving to Sleepy Hollow and this guy had flunkies...) with the instruction to Abbie and Ichabod to remove their shirts.

Foreseeing that unless that drink had contained a lot more hops in correlation to anything else, Crane was going to kick up trouble, Abbie went first. After dropping her coat on a chair back she pulled her burgundy tank top over her head, leaving her top half clad in a modest black sports bra.

Sure enough... "_Lieutenant_!" Crane had momentarily gone a particularly interesting shade of purple, Abbie noted as he fastened his gaze on the ceiling. "Sure you cannot expect-"

"Ah!" She stopped with with a firm exclamation. "You got yourself into this, and I don't want any 18th-century ideals of modesty right now." When Crane kept his gaze tilted upwards she made a frustrated noise and stepped closer to pull on his elbow. "Crane. You'd see a lot more than this during a day at the beach or the pool, believe me." Sensing she wasn't close to convincing him yet, she threw her hands up and took a step back. "Seriously. If we're stuck together for the next seven years, you're going to have to leave a few of those morals of yours behind."

Ichabod muttered a vague agreement, finally dropped his head enough to look her in the eye, though he was decidedly pink about it. He began undoing the laces of his own shirt, looking worried again at the prospect of venom.

_Not worried enough to have not drunk the damn drink in the first place_, Abbie thought with a scowl, ignoring the part where Ichabod hadn't known about the scorpions when he chose to accompany her.

Besides, even if he had known - he probably would have done the same thing anyway.

"You shouldn't have done that. I don't need you to take care of me." Abbie pointed out, trying very hard not to look like she was staring as he peeled the shirt from his wiry arms.

"I thought we weren't discussing it."

"_You _thought we weren't discussing it."

"Abbie-" He used her first name so rarely it still carried enormous impact. "-don't look upon this as some noble gesture if it upsets you so. We _are _partners and if there's danger to be faced it'll be easier to overcome with the two of us. We're in all of this together."

"Hmm." Abbie grumbled, rather that admit she might not have won this one.

He had a very intriguing muscle structure under a light dusting of chest hair. Dammit, _she was not looking_.

It was a difficult adjustment to make for Abbie, not being alone anymore. Not as much of an adjustment as it was for Ichabod to adapt to this time, but enough that it gave her a measure of sympathy for him.

It was hard to resist sharing your life with somebody when that somebody was Ichabod Crane.


	4. Pop Culture

**((A/N| If you haven't seen Thor: The Dark World and you dislike like spoilers, I wouldn't read this chapter!))**

* * *

"I have news for you."

Ichabod looked up at Abbie from the book he had his perfectly aquiline nose buried in. "Hm. Do enlighten me." He closed the book with care - the cover was so creased and ancient looking Abbie wondered it hadn't disintegrated in his grip. It was high time to yank him out of these dusty archives.

"Okay, remember that night off we were promised? We have a second chance. Come on, we're leaving right now." Abbie shelved the book on top of the nearest filing cabinet and held out a hand to Crane. For a moment his usual collected expression wavered as he considered the backwards nature of a woman helping a man up, but at length he gripped her fingers and allowed himself to be towed out of his chair, then the room. "May I inquire as to where, exactly, we are going?"

"Well, I figured it's about time you enjoyed a little modern culture, so..."

Ichabod found himself blinking up at a neon sign uncomprehendingly. Abbie waved a hand at the racks of DVD and bluerays inside. "We're going to watch a movie. A couple, if you like."

She had thought, briefly, about taking him out somewhere. But shopping for some modern clothes hadn't yet been accomplished and she didn't want Irving complaining about letting Crane run around in public in his "pirate" getup any more than he already did. Given his reactions to some of the modern day "fashions" he had glimpsed on passers-by, Abbie was not looking forward to convincing Crane he needed a new look.

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't fantasized about him in a pair of jeans. Nothing but a pair of jeans. Actually, scrap the jeans, nothing but those boots of his with the stupid heel making him even taller and-

_-hold that thought._

It didn't take long for Ichabod to become fascinated by the rows of brightly designed DVD cases, his gaze constantly drawn to the large flatscreen in the corner showing trailers for upcoming releases. "Pick something that looks interesting." Abbie instructed Ichabod, and she set him free in the wilds of the rental store with some trepidation, half expecting him to come back with something black and white and subtitled (Abbie could not _stand _subtitled movies.)

He surprised her when he popped his head over the top of a shelf and waved something red, white and blue with fire in the background. "Irving called me this some weeks ago. I didn't imagine it was at all complimentary then. What does it mean?" He questioned, and Abbie cursed Crane's damned eidetic memory. He _would_ find the superhero movies. She explained that Steve Rogers was a man form the past who'd been frozen and woke up in the present and naturally that sealed it. Ichabod wanted Captain America.

She bit the bullet and got Iron Man, Thor and the Avengers for him too. Never having kept up all too well with what she vaguely recalls Morales babbling on as the 'Marvel Cinematic Universe' she couldn't remember which Hulk movie was the first one and which belonged to the series, so she left them out. She rescued a horrified Crane from the one-and-a-half steps he'd taken into the adult section before freezing to the spot ((Miss Mills! Do you imagine the proprietor is aware of the indecent displays of these films? We must inform him immediately!)) and distracted him from his questions by shooing him into the next-door 7-Eleven to pick up popcorn, chocolate bars, and his favourite doughnut holes. She kept him away from the aisle with bottled water.

"This suit is precisely what we need to combat the Horseman. What a marvel of modern ingenuity!" Ichabod enjoyed Iron Man immensely. Abbie wound up paying more attention to Crane enjoying his first proper movie than she did to the screen. He looked more relaxed than at any point in her memory, sitting on her couch with his boots discarded by the door. He had the roughest woolen socks she'd ever set eyes on and she steeled her resolve to take him shopping once and for all sometime soon.

She had worried about starting with an introduction to Tony Stark because the eccentric billionaire seemed impossible as a character for Crane to relate to. Halfway through the movie she was proved wrong.

"I don't have anyone but you." Tony professed to his assistant/love interest, and Abbie didn't miss Ichabod's sharp intake of breath at the line. He didn't turn to look at her, but the air between them charged until the tension broke with his warm fingers grasping hers.

He ddin't let go through the whole movie, and they wound up sitting close enough together on the couch their shoulders touched.

Abbie got up to make popcorn for he next movie, Thor. She enjoyed this one a bit more than Iron Man because at least with Chris Helmsworth in it she had something pretty to look at (Something _other_ than the man on her couch, the little voice in her head piped up, but she told the voice to shut up). Ichabod was so entranced by the fantasy world of Asgard that he forgot to eat his, attention riveted to the screen with his eyes shining and his jaw occasionally dropping.

"How is it that there is a portal between our world and Asgard?" He asked at length, and Abbie held back a sigh. She knew she should have started him on a rom-com instead. "It's not real, Crane, like the Iron Man suit. These movies are science-fiction, meaning they are made-up science."

"Yes I do recall the definition of the word fiction, Lieutenant." He responded huffily, but minutes later he was absorbed back into the movie with the untouched bowl of popcorn on his lap. Abbie finished hers and began sneaking handfuls of his. Absently, Ichabod slapped her hand away.

"What! You weren't eating it, it was getting cold."

"And what pray tell, if I _like_ it cold?"

"_Nobody_ likes it cold." Abbie snorted. She stole another handful. He let her.

As the credits rolled and Abbie yawningly prepared the next DVD Ichabod waxed eloquent about how admirable he'd found Thor. "...A man after my own heart, who understands decency, tradition, who treats his lady love with the utmost respect..."

If it weren't so fun watching Crane's reactions Abbie would have been asleep by the end of Captian America. Most of the jokes were within his grasp and she was fast becoming addicted to the rich sound of his unbridled laughter, so rarely was it heard. As she'd suspected, Crane enjoyed Cappy just as much as he had Thor and Iron Man. She put Avengers on for him afterwards but due to this being Nick's favourite movie she'd seen it a half a dozen times and nodded sleepily through the second half.

Having caught on quickly to the end-credit trick, Crane sat perfectly still throughout the credits until the final scene played out, promptly turning to Abbie to ask who the large purple creature had been. When he realized she was asleep he stilled, forgetting his question, absorbed for a moment in watching his partner at perfect peace in sleep. The worry lines around her eyes eased away, her posture relaxed - how had he not noticed one of her hands had fallen onto the couch and was so close her fingers brushed his leg? Once he did notice though he couldn't stop thinking about the point of contact and he didn't move for several more moments.

Abbie sighed softly when she felt the world slowly but not unpleasantly unsettle around her. Her eyelids fluttered, although she didn't fully wake. There was a comforting warmth along her left side that reassured, kept away the usual suspicion that would have set in when she realized she wasn't fully in control of a situation. She turned towards the warmth, resting her head against it, inhaling a now-familiar scent that reminded her of a blend of pine and woodsmoke.

"Sleep now... Abbie." a soft voice said close to her left ear. Softness replaced the warmth and in sleepy protest she reached for whatever had cradled her.

Ichabod looked down at her hand resting on his arm, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrist. His heart thumped unevenly, the fantastic world of movies he'd been immersed in just a few minutes ago suddenly evaporated in the wake of the torrent of feeling that engulfed him.

How on earth had this tiny, stubborn, wonderful person come to mean so much to him? He hated to admit even to himself that the flare inside his heart had burned up even brighter than when he'd first begun to have feelings for Katrina.

But he couldn't deny these feelings, not when they raged through him so strongly it was all he could do not to act on impulse - and _oh_, how that impulse wanted Abbie nestled back in his arms, her small frame pulled flush against his large one, her hands exploring further than his arms. He clenched his hands still and closed his eyes but that only made him hyper-aware of her grasp on him, of the soft sound of Abbie's breathing in the little bedroom.

He wanted her with a ferocity that left him breathless, one impossible to deny the existence of any longer.

Ichabod didn't know how long he stood there until he felt he'd leashed his wilder instincts. When he opened his eyes he felt calmer, as if by acknowledging this attraction between them it was now easier to cope with. He gently took Abbie's hand off his arm, unable to resist brushing his lips over her fingers before gently settling her arm on her bed. His hand lingered over her, finally settling on lightly moving a few strands of hair off her face. "Thank you for this evening, Abbie. A more memorable night has not passed since my arrival in this era."

Then he turned and quickly strode from the room, soundless in his socks. He settled on his back upon the couch, gazing at the ceiling and replaying each emotion in his mind.

He only slept a few hours before dawn, and he didn't wake until he heard the clink of mugs in the kitchen. Abbie appeared with a cup of coffee after he sat up. He immediately rose to his feet to accept, noting that the smile she reserved just for him had lost none of it's sincerity.

He also noticed the way her fingers brushed, perhaps even lingered, against his as she handed over the coffee. But she didn't make any comment about what had happened last night, and still struggling with his feelings, neither did Ichabod, and they busied themselves with a breakfast of bacon and eggs. Well, Abbie busied cooking, and Crane busied with occasionally handing her a cooking implement, then with eating. He ate more than an entire squad, Abbie thought with amusement.

"So, I take it you enjoyed the movies?" Abbie nodded towards the stack on the coffee table. "Immensely so." Ichabod replied from the sink where he was washing the breakfast dishes, meticulously scrubbing each pan and plate until sparkling. "I do profess that these 'movies' are among my favourite of your modern technological advances. The incredible amount of work that must go into capturing such a spectacle is astounding to imagine."

He looked so ridiculously enthusiastic with his eyes alive and his expression so animated Abbie couldn't help but melt a little. "Tell you what. I have to finish up some paperwork at the station, but if you want to come with, barring any demon-related emergencies, I'll treat you to a surprise this afternoon."

He never had liked surprises, but for Abbie he was willling to go along for the ride.

"What is the purpose of this 'multiplex', Lieutenant?" Craning his neck to stare up at the tall building and the vertical sign shining front and center, Ichabod's eyebrows furrowed.

Abbie tucked her arm in his and led him inside, where he did a double-take at the crowds and displays, then, catching a whiff of buttery popcorn, turned his head to try and locate the source. "Okay, this is how it works. New movies get released here before we can buy them on DVD and take them home. It works on the same concept, but with a bigger screen and better sound."

"Oh, Miss Mills! Look! It's Thor, Odinson!" Ichabod gazed with delight at a Thor: The Dark World display as if he'd rediscovered a long-lost friend. Abbie smiled. "That's why we're here. There's a sequel out to your precious Thor, so I thought you might like to experience a bit more of modern culture."

He looked down at her with the smile lighting up past his lips to his eyes, and for a moment the crowds and the noise ceased to exist for Abbie as she gazed up at him.

This was getting harder by the day. It was as if some line she couldn't see had been crossed, because she could swear he'd never looked at her with quite so much intensity, sure that he never used to lean in quite so close that he imposed just slightly on her personal space. She was sure of that because instead of wanting to back away her own body wanted to curve towards his.

"Uh - shall we?" She finally came to her senses, pulled back, but she didn't drop his arm as they took their place in the queue.  
"Now, there are some rules when you go to the movies. Firstly, try not to talk, because you'll disturb the other people who want to watch the movie. People who talk at the movie theater go to a special hell - I will answer any and every question you have _after_ the movie is finished, okay? Secondly, go to the bathroom before we go in. Nobody wants six-foot-_one_-tall-revolutionary-soldiers climbing over them in the aisle. Thirdly, you have to help me eat this popcorn."

Abbie handed Ichabod one of those ridiculously huge popcorn-and-drink combos that nobody could ever finish, but he looked delighted with the prospect. "I shall do my solemn best, Miss Mills." He assured her, but the way his eyes twinkled when he said it made Abbie think there was very little that was solemn in his mind.

Ichabod lasted ten minutes into the movie before he had to give voice to a question he couldn't contain. Mindful of the people near them he leaned down to whisper in Abbie's ear, and she almost didn't hear the question, he got so close and she was so distracted by the feel of his hair brushing her cheek and smell of him so close. "Why is it that Jane Foster is allowing another man to court her when she still waits the arrival of the God of Thunder?" He hissed, full of indignation. Abbie held back a sigh and the comment that waiting for a Thunder God might be sort of like waiting for a witch who may be trapped in purgatory, then whispered back: "Don't worry, once Thor appears she's going to forget all about this guy."

Superhero girlfriends had it so easy.

Ichabod only asked a handful more questions during the movie itself but the moment the credits rolled he all but flung the empty popcorn tub away from him in his enthusiasm. "That vastly surpassed the original film! Tell me Miss Mills, what do you imagine became of Odin? Do you suppose when Loki scarified himself he really thought he was dying or was it simply part of his plan all along? How long will Thor take to travel back to Earth and his lady love? Will the Avengers Initiative claim his time once more if he does so?"

Abbie made an attempt at answering his continuing barrage of questions while letting the people around them file out, though she noted one or two couples and small groups remain seated. Just as Crane finally went quiet and she went to stand up another scene appeared onscreen. _What, this movie has _two_ end-credits scenes? _Snorted Abbie inwardly, but she was soon smiling - as much at Crane's obvious enthusiasm to the movie's conclusion as to Thor and Jane re-uniting. She almost expected him to give a standing ovation, but instead he took her hand in his own to lead her out of the theater in a motion so natural, that felt so damned _right_, she couldn't even think of words to protest. His excited animated didn't cease as they started across the car park and discussed the movie further, Ichabod's free hand waving and gesturing frequently to emphasize his points.

This was, Abbie realized, the side of Crane she'd only glimpsed at before now - a man content with his lot, relaxed in his surroundings, happy with his company - a man at home.

* * *

**((A/N| Hopefully you guys approve of the movie choices! I wanted a solid lead-up to going to the movies, and also I'm a bit tired of fics that assume Ichabod would love Harry Potter... I've got nothing against the films or the books and have seen and read them all but I swear I've come across six or seven fics that have Ichabod introduced to the world of HP! Still, at least he's not getting into Twilight, that might be a bit hard to swallow... :P))**


	5. Don't Leave

**A/N| This takes places after the escape from the haunted house in 0.9, Sanctuary.**

* * *

Ichabod looked like such a mess sitting like a blood-slathered statue in the passenger seat that after delivering Lena into a grumpy Irving's hands Abbie drove him directly back to her place. He was barely responsive when she tugged on his arm to get him to leave the car.

"Shower, right now. Make sure it's hot, it'll help with the shock. Drop your clothes outside the door so I can take care of them, okay?"

He nodded mechanically, went into her bathroom, and closed the door without a word.

Abbie was worried.

She collected the blood-stained clothing pile and ran it through the machine, muttering about him only having one set of clothes because she still hadn't found the time to brave the mall with him in tow. But her heart wasn't in it.

_She should have seen this sooner. _

Back when the Masons had kidnapped Crane, and Katrina had come to her, the first thing she'd seen was the rolling pram, her attention caught by the wail of an unseen baby.

Crane's baby.

Right by the pram - a crib. And right after that the Horseman had appeared to chase her away from the baby's room. Katrina had told her - "This house in an echo of the home I once shared with my husband."

If she had thought to question Katrina then...

_What? What would that have changed? If I found out about his son and told him then, would that have hurt him any less? _Abbie pulled Crane's clothes out of the washer with more force than was necessary and shoved them angrily into the drier.

She couldn't get it out of her mind. The way the emotions had played across his face, always so controlled. She'd had to tell him. It had been kept from him for too long, and regardless of whatever monster was hunting them down, she'd had to tell him. He had a son. Of all the things he had left behind from his own time, this was the one he _had_ to know about, the one that pained him most of all.

She knew she'd never forget the anguish in that look as long as she lived.

She realized that although the sound of the shower water had shut off Crane hadn't yet emerged. He'd been in there for an hour. Worry clawed at her insides, sent her darting to the bathroom door. She rapped with her knuckles. "Crane? Are you okay?"

He didn't answer, but she was listening intently enough that she heard the slight shift of body weight. She shuffled her weight from one foot to the other impatiently, but he didn't answer, and he didn't open the door.

"Crane, are you covered?" Still no answer. "I'm coming in."

He was sitting with his back to the bath, thankfully wearing a towel around his waist, although his wet hair was dripping down his chest. Abbie's eyes were immediately drawn to the sharply red cuts along his abdomen and shoulder. "Shit." she breathed, dropping beside him, noticing that the water running off his side was slightly tinged crimson. "Crane, can you hear me? Look at me."

He didn't respond, so she slid her fingers under his chin and tilted his head towards her. His pupils look normal, but his eyes were so huge and filled with such sadness it took all her composure not to reel back.

He wasn't over this yet, not by a long shot.

"She didn't tell me." He murmured, and hearing it in his voice was even harder than looking at it in his expression. Abbie had been careful to remain neutral when thinking of Katrina... up until now. Right then, she felt she could have willingly punched the witch in the nose for causing Crane pain like this. "How could she not?"

"It's okay. It's going to be okay." She told him, automatically, half expecting him to snap at her for the obvious lie. How on earth was this ever going to be okay?

But the anger was gone, drained out as he wielded the axe against the beast that has chased his wife and child into the night. He laughed, the bitterest, most miserable sound that Abbie could imagine. "I fear, Lieutenant, that it will never be okay again."

At least he was talking. She didn't think that he was so much in shock anymore as that the emotions were just too difficult for him to process properly. It was obvious how far out of touch he was when she examined his shirtless chest and got no objection. The double cuts along his abdomen weren't serious, and they didn't appear to be bleeding anymore. The deepest one on his shoulder worried her, and she suspected it ought to have had stitches, but she didn't have the heart to drag him to the hospital. He put up no protest while she cleaned the wound, smeared it liberally with antibiotic cream, and then when she brought him into the kitchen and sat him at the table. She left him with a hot drink between his hands to retrieve his clothes from the drier. He drank no more than three or four sips while she dug out a needle and thread and patched the rip in the shoulder of the shirt. She wished her would rant, or pace, or any of his usual habits.

"I wonder what he was like." Ichabod's voice, a hollow shadow of it's normal timbre, surprised Abbie. She looked up from the last few stitches. She could see the desperation, the yearning in him. He couldn't deal with this on his own.

"I'll bet he looked like you. Your eyes. Your nose." She suggested, the faintest hint of a smile touching her lips to picture Ichabod's familiar features in miniature. "And he would have been smart. He'd probably be debating with you by age five."

He only stared into his teacup, and she felt a stab of pain of her own that he was so far out of reach.

He shirt patched as best her sketchy sewing skills permitted, she handed it back to him. His hands shook at he put it on, then vaguely got up and return to the bathroom with the rest of his clothes, emerging in his usual attire. Noting he'd put his boots back on, with the logical intention to go back to the cabin, Abbie stood up to head him off. "You're staying tonight, Crane." She told him simply, and when a faint flicker of relief crossed his face, she experienced the same emotion. He would get through this. _They_ would get through this. Gently Abbie took his hand to lead him to the room that had steadily come to be known as his room instead of the spare room. "C'mon, sleep, Crane. We'll come up with a plan tomorrow. We'll find the answers." She assured him earnestly, and he looked at her, properly, for the first time in what felt like an age. Exhaustion, misery, defeat - it was hard to find any trace of her Crane in there.

"That's what worries me." He admitted in a tiny voice, swaying a little and worrying Abbie gravely. She worried she really should call him an ambulance, but how were they going to fix the great tears in his heart and soul?

"Crane. Any answer is better than this. I can see you putting yourself through hell, second-guessing yourself, and it isn't your fault." She told him with a sudden fierceness. He blinked as if he were thinking about believing her words, weight tilting to the left, and she hastily guided him over to the bed where he half-lay and half-fell across the mattress, the night's events catching up to him. Abbie methodically lifted one of his legs up, sat beside him, and began painstakingly undoing the lace at the back of his boot. If she was honest with herself that was something she's fantaized about doing for weeks... but this wasn't the time for her imagination to run away with her. Once both boots were off she set them carefully beside the bed where he'd be able to see them, then got up.

"Mnnn." He surprised her when he rumbled a protesting noise and his fingers caught her own. "Don't leave."

She froze, turning to face him slowly. His eyes were open - just - and curse it, that same sadness had her drowning in them.

Of course he wasn't asking what her mind immediately leaped to...

"I've left behind everybody else. Not you too." He muttered, almost incomprehensible in his exhaustion. Oh. Right.

The step felt too huge, too intimate for the short time they'd known one another... but Abbie didn't have the heart to refuse him anything, not like this. She'd have blown off work and maxed her credit card buying him a ticket to London if that's what he'd wanted.

She shrugged off her jacket curled up in the space beside him. Mindful of his injuries, her arm snaked over his midsection, above the cuts on his abdomen, below the slice over his shoulder. His arm coiled over hers and pulled her body closer to his back with more strength than his tiredness ought to have allowed. Abbie's skin sparked, then she melted against him. The way she fit along the line of his neck, back and leg, automatically adapting his exact pose to spoon against him, was beyond her imagination.

_If he needs me... just for tonight... _already his even breathing and the warmth in his body was lulling her to sleep too.

She was afraid to admit that she needed him every bit as much as he needed her.

* * *

**A/N| Have I mentioned lately how much I appreciate all my completely awesome reviewers? For me there is no motivation to get to work and write more than reviews, so thank you to everybody who has taken the time to leave feedback :) For you, I give you chapter with excessive fluff, enjoy!**

**Edited to fix up a stuffup I initially made with the continuity of Ichabod's clothing. From another site I post this fic on a reviewer asked me:**  
**"If he has just had a shower why does he have his boots on?"**

**Me: "Because I wrote it at midnight and I have a Ichabod-boot-fetish? :)"**


	6. Got You Covered

"Get in the car. We're going shopping."

He'd been brooding. Whenever he wasn't actively researching methods of contacting a deceased witch in the underworld, as a matter of fact, and Abbie was sick of it. Brooding didn't suit Crane. She was used to his indignantly commenting on every outrageous thing about the present that struck him, arguing his points, backing up his facts with his dry sense of humour. Maybe a change of scene would help him out of his misery.

Ichabod met her steely gaze with an arched eyebrow, decided there was little point in protesting as his victory was unlikely, and meekly picked up his coat to head for Abbie's car.

He was still clearly reeling from the whole 'I-have-a-son-who-probably-died-decades-ago' ordeal which was evidenced by the fact he didn't speak on the drive - no questions, no barbs, no running commentary on the lack of decorum in the modern fashions of passers-by, not even any playing with the windows. Typically he couldn't resist pressing the button and watching the window slide up and down at least a few times, until Abbie's warning death glare became unavoidable.

Abbie was shocked at how much as missed Annoying Crane, with all his quirks. She hoped she'd be able to get him back. He didn't even look quite like her Crane anymore. He seemed paler even thinner than usual, almost gaunt, and she wondered if he'd been eating properly and vowed she would drag him to her place for a few meals and stop feeding him fast food when they were on a job. There were stress lines around his eyes that she'd never noticed, and the usual sharpness of said blue eyes was muted and shadowed by dark rings. Sometimes Abbie thought she knew his eyes better than any other part of him. They appeared green in some indoor lighting, and in the darkness they turned silver. During jobs she found herself constantly sneaking glancing at him just to check what colour they were.

When they reached the mall the activity perked him up a little, and Abbie was careful to keep him at her side so he wouldn't wander - he was liable to stray towards anything that interested him or he didn't understand, which was roughly fifty percent or so of the sights around them. The mall was crowded, fully decorated for Christmas with brightly coloured trees, wreathes and banners everywhere. Ichabod watched a man playing a complex, multi-tiered drumset with great interest, flinched away from the pizza advertiser avidly shaking a specials board to attract customers, and stared wide-eyed when they saw a couple of teenagers being hauled away in handcuffs for shoplifting and assaulting security.

He lingered then turned longingly towards a storefront. "That store smells incredible." He declared, with a touch of awe in his voice. Abbie smiled, pleased he was at least taking more of an interest in his surroundings.

"That's the Body Shop. Perfume, soap, that kind of thing. Not really what we need for you."

Just the same, he stopped at the tray of display bottles by the entrance, lowered his head, and got a look of intense concentration. Usually, that particular look was reserved for when he had a book before him written in a language Abbie couldn't recognize. "Crane?"

He picked up one bottle, sniffed briefly at it, made a dismissive face, then snagged a second. "Aha!"

"Aha what?"

"This is the perfume you wear."

Abbie was surprised he got it right - though it wasn't perfume, only body spray, a coconut one she afforded herself as a small luxury. _He must have the nose of a bloodhound. _

"I'm impressed, but we still need to get you a few sets of clothes. Come on."

He got sidetracked again just a few stores up. "That smell is also delightful..." He said wonderingly, veering off towards a small Cinnabon stand. Abbie rolled her eyes as she broke into a trot to follow him. He looked so entranced she couldn't resist buying him a cinnamon roll, pus one for herself - she had a feeling she might need the sugar rush to steel her up Ichabod's First Shopping Encounter.

She unwisely let him out of her sight for a few precious seconds while she dropped her paper bag in the nearest trash can and turned back to find Crane was no longer at her side.

_Shit! If he's wandered off into a crowd of Christmas shoppers I'll never get him back! _

She breathed a sigh of releif when she realized that he hadn't gone very far and in fact stood transfixed at the nearest store front, but it wasn't perfume or cinnamon rolls that had him entranced this time. He had a smile on his face and a palm pressed to the glass.

"NO." She pulled at her firmest no-nonsense Lieutenant Voice. "Don't even THINK it, Crane."

"They're so tiny.." He trailed off, a softer look coming over his usually composed face than she'd ever seen. "Miss Mills.."

"Don't you Miss-Mills me. I said _no_." She grabbed his arm and tugged. He shuffled a reluctant half-step away from the window. "Absolutely entrancing." He murmured, resisting Abbie's hauling on his arm for another minute before she towed him away.

"You aren't getting one." Abbie had her hands full enough with Crane on his own, let alone Crane complete with _puppy_.

He looked over his shoulder at the pet store window and she towed him away. "Why ever not? We always had dogs about at the manor in England, and even during the war there were many who accompanied their masters into battle. George Washington himself brought his favourite hound."

"Don't get any ideas." Abbie warned him, breathing a sigh of relief when the pet store was out of sight. She was not up to explaining why it was a poor choice to buy a puppy from a pet store, since most of them were bred by heartless puppy farms. If she had to explain the concept of the factory-farmed-dogs who suffered in cages all their lives to him, judging by his besotted expression looking on the puppies, her hotheaded soldier would begin a campaign she'd never be able to drag him away from to free them. They had enough on their plate averting the Apocalypse without taking on animal rights too.

Thank goodness he spotted a mannequin on the way to their destination that distracted him. He stopped so suddenly Abbie overshot him my several step. "Crane, what did I say about sticking close?" She grumbled irritably.

"Dear Lord, such a vulgar display oughtn't be in public like this." Crane's outraged gaze was narrowed on a Macy's mannequin in lacy underwear and bra.

_Why me?_ Abbie turned her eyes to the decorations above. "Crane, it's okay. They're having a 20% off underwear sale. Brace yourself, because that's exactly where we're going."

Given his reaction to underwear she started with shirts and pants. She picked out the closest shirts she could find to what he was wearing - nothing had laces, but he seemed happy enough with button-ups with long sleeves and collars. He was suspicious of the jeans she tried to pursued him into. "This 'denim' resembles no cotton weave I have ever come across." He grumbled, and in the end he wound up with three sets of pants close to what he already owned and one set of dark jeans Abbie insisted upon.

She took a deep breath, and herded him into Underwear.

"Are these actually intended to be drawers?" He spluttered, staring wide-eyed at the boxers and briefs in every colour around them. "Why are they so short?"

_Thank god he's familiar with the concept_, Abbie told herself. Not, that, of course, she'd been having secret fantasies about what sort of underwear, if any, the man had on.

He picked up a garment between thumb and forefinger, examined, then waved, it at her. "What is this intended to cover, exactly?"

"Not very much. I don't think you'd find that comfortable." Abbie removed the thong from his grip and returned it to the shelf. "Since we don't know weather you're a boxes or briefs man, we'll just try a couple of each and you can tell me which you find more comfortable for next time we come."

He spluttered with the indignity of it all until they left the clothing department.

Maybe on their next trip, she'd get daring and see if she could get him to update his coat. She was pretty sure she didn't have the heart to pose any argument about the boots, though.

She paused at the Christmas displays. Oh, what the hell, it was only money. Ichabod stared on in bewilderment as she handed him a boxed-up tree. "What is this?"

"Christmas tree. Save the questions for when we get to the Archives, and we'll set it up there." Sadly, it was where they were spending most of their time these days. Better to set it up there where they might actually see it, instead of her place or Crane's cabin.

_And when exactly did you start thinking of it as _Crane_'s cabin, not Corbin's? _  
Ichabod still didn't really trust EFTPOS machines or credit cards and watched the cashier ring through the sale with a mild scowl. "How that tiny device is able to recall your money accurately at the mere press of a button..." He began rebelliously, but Abbie nudged his arm with her shoulder to subtly shut him up. "The point is not to attract too much attention, Crane. That's why we're buying all of this." She nodded to the bags of clothing - _plastic bags_, Ichabod thought with a flash of annoyance - but he realized that this was far from the first time Abbie had paid for his own things. In his former time, it would have been unheard of. "Nevertheless Miss Mills, you have my gratitude for covering my expenses. It is not my intention to become a financial burden to you."

She sighed as she replaced her credit card and handed him the bags to carry so his male ego wouldn't be further dented. "Crane, you are no kind of burden to me, okay? It's only money, and if I'm going to spending the next seven years of my life fighting demons instead of drug dealers, I hardly need the spare cash to go jetting off to Paris now, do I?"

"Thought admittedly Paris is an excellent center for medicinal research, I cannot imagine any other reason one would want to visit that dreary city. There was no city further in debt, with such poor leadership as Paris."

"These days, that dreary city is one of the most popular vacation spots in the world. I assume French is one of the six hundred languages you speak?"

"Overlooking that gross overestimation which I'm assuming was meant in jest, yes, I do speak French."

"Colour me shocked."

"Lieutenant?"

"Hmm?"

"What did you man by 'jetting'?"

She was surprised this particular conversation had taken so long. "You remember when you said London was months away by boat? Well, we have planes now that move a lot faster than boats can. You can fly even to distant places with a day."

That did the trick. "But - how in the name of - that quickly?" It was enjoyable for Abbie to see his eyes get so wide and him grasping for words. "I had heard rumours, speak of the devil, that the French were in the planning stage with hydrogen vessels of suspension, but for the concept to be so streamlined... how do your 'planes', work, Miss Mills?"

The ride home Abbie spent enlightening Crane on the joys of airline travel, trying to answer his numerous questions on the topic which she deflected with her sketchy knowledge of physics. How was she to know that her ninth-grade Physics teacher was right, and that she would be applying what she learned in class in the real world one day?

Though she highly doubted what Mr Chaplain meant was that someday she'd been trying to rationalize how planes stayed in the air to a time-traveling revolutionary solider.

When they pulled up at Crane's cabin, Abbie insisted on carrying one of the bags inside, which Crane silently protested by holding the door as she went inside. With the kettle hissing on the stovetop and Crane hesitantly collecting mugs and spoons in preparation for coffee, he turned to join Abbie at the kitchen table.

"Miss Mills? Might... would it be possible..."

"Spit it out, Crane." Abbie encouraged patiently. He looked startled for a moment. "Er - I was just wondering. If there ever came a time we were not engaged against the forces of darkness, might we partake one of these plane's transportational abilities?"

He looked so ridiculously eager, with those blasted blue eyes and hopeful expression. "Where do you want to go?" She shouldn't have had to ask.

"London. I would dearly like to see what has become of my home."

She smiled at him. "First thing we do once we've kicked Moloch's albino butt is book two tickets to London."

He smiled widely back, and just like that, she saw the Crane she knew emerging from the misery of the past few days.

* * *

**A/N Okay I've put off doing a shopping scene for so long, even though bits of this chapter were already written before tonight. Mostly because I'm not American and the culture of shopping over there is very different to ours. (I am a Kiwi-born Aussie.) It's a silly thing to worry about wrecking, but, that's what goes on inside my chaotic mind. It did let me do some fun research into American stores we don't get over here though and that was fun! Though, I'm now sad we have no Cinnabon. They appear for all intents exceptionally delicious. I want all my readers to go buy one, eat it, and think of your hungry ChestnutBrumby missing out while you do :) **

**What do you mean it's two in the morning? **_**GO**_**! **


	7. Reality of the Situation

Ichabod had awoken an hour before dawn and been unable to get back to sleep, which was common for him. Not wanting to be alone with the bitter thoughts about Katrina and the secrets she'd made a career of keeping from him, he got up, pulled on his coat and boots, and went for a walk to clear his head.

He still found it soothing, getting out into the world, seeing the sights. He'd always loved to travel and explore, even by simply taking a different route home, and nothing had changed. He meandered through the woods, absently noting the early birdsong and watching the light change from inky blue-black to the pastel warmth of sunrise. He spotted some sort of raptor taking off from a branch almost directly overhead - Ichabod swore he could feel the downdraft as the powerful wings beat the still morning air, and he glimpsed the white tip on the bird's tail feathers before it vanished from sight between the trees.

The whinny surprised him; he instantly turned towards the familiar sound to see that the trees had given way to a paddock whose occupant was cantering across the grass to investigate him.

Back in his time, horses had been everything. They pulled stagecoaches and mail coaches, milk carts and supply wagons. He had galloped into battle on horseback, spent any manner of happy, simple times in the stables with his horse, seen the utter respect and partnership the Native Americans shared with their beloved horses.

Until the black stallion came racing across the field to him, he hadn't realized just how much he missed being around horses.

The stallion was magnificent. He was a well-bred animal - perhaps one of the Thoroughbreds that was being developed for racing purposes when he left England, Ichabod thought, scrutinizing the stallion's long legs and powerful shoulder muscles. His coat shone in the early morning light with a sheen that was metallic blue, speaking of good grooming and exemplary care.

The horse stared him down for a moment, head lifted, an eye rolling a little. Ichabod relaxed his stern posture slightly, shifting his weight so he was almost side-on to the horse. In turn the stallion responded to the friendly gesture, ears flicking forward and stretching his head out to Ichabod. He raised his hand, letting him catch his scent, then gently ran the same hand down the silken neck and inhaled the familiar, grassy scent of horse.

He hadn't felt this homesick in a long time. He recalled the horse from his own time - Dash, a pretty bay mare with four white socks, an eager jumper who made the idiotic tradition of fox hunting bearable by carrying him boldly over any obstacle and every terrain. During the war, he'd had a charger - a big, dense, bull of a gelding called Landslide, who had none of Dash's intelligence but a heart like a lion.

"That's unusual for Strike." Commented a voice behind him, making Ichabod jump. He turned to find a tall man appraising him with eyes somewhere between brown and black, broad shoulders hunched in a decidedly guarded posture. His hair was even darker than his eyes, in contrast with his pale skin that bore only the barest hint of a winter tan.

Despite the flat tone of the man's voice and his lack of welcome, Ichabod found it hard to distrust him when the stallion trotted over to him, hanging his head over the fence and whickering a soft greeting. The man lifted a hand and rested his palm against the ebon cheek, and Ichabod noted the natural ease with which he handled the horse.

"What is unusual?" He questioned, lifting an eyebrow, not offering his name since the courtesy had not been extended to him.

"He doesn't usually have anything to do with strangers." Replied the man shortly, and Ichabod wondered if the stallion was the only one. The stranger turned his full attention to the horse and gently but capable removed a twig from his long mane. Ichabod straightened up and spoke a touch more formally. "I apologize for intruding upon your land. My mare is... some distance away. I had not realized until I saw your stallion just how far, how much I miss her company, and that.. it is not likely that I will see her again."

There was so much more than Dash he wouldn't see again.

The dark-haired man's stern expression softened, almost imperceptibly, and he nodded once in acknowledgement, Ichabod clearly having passed some unwritten test. He gestured to the stallion. There was the barest hint of friendliness in his voice as he gestured to the stallion, shifting the obviously sore subject away from Ichabod's past. "His name's Midnight Strike. Best jumping prospect I have right now, solid on the flat, smart over the jumps."

"He is a Thoroughbred, is he not?"

"Mm." Whoever this man was, he wasn't one of many words, unless, apparently, he had something to say about his horse. But at last he looked Ichabod in the eye, and stepping away from the black stallion a hand was extended. "I'm Ben." He finally introduced himself, and Ichabod was relieved to shake the proffered hand and return to the rules of etiquette as he knew them. "Ichabod Crane. Nice to meet you."

"If you've got some time on your hands, feel free to come back to the barn with us." Ben haltered the stallion, bringing the leather head harness smoothly over the horse's ears and buckling it under the chin with the ease of obvious practice. He produced a lead rope from a coat pocket and once it was safely clipped to the halter, Ichabod opened the gate so he could lead the stallion out. He noticed how Ben's sharp eyes watched him stay within Strike's line of sight, and waited until the stallion's powerful hindquarters were out of reach before closing it again.

"I'd enjoy that. It's been too long since I was around horses." Admitted Ichabod, sensing that this taciturn man would if nothing else, understand his bond with horses. He was right.

"This stable is wondrous." Breathed Ichabod, staring in wonder at the decorated arches over the entrance, the script edged with horseshoes reading 'Blue Hill Stables', everything glowing in mahogany wood. "My fiance and I are managing the place while the owner's in Australia." Explained Ben, while a half-dozen eager equine faces peered out over half-doors, each looking as well-tended to as Strike. Ichabod felt himself slip into bone-deep familiar routine as he approached the closest stall and allowed the chestnut gelding inside to sniff him. A cheery female voice called out from further down the aisle.

"Hey Ben, if you're ready to work him, I'll tack up Wolfgang." A young African American woman rounded the corner with a pair of dogs at her heels who immediately bounded over, tails wagging, to sniff Ichabod. "Good morning, Madam. My apologizes at disturbing you at such an early hour." Ichabod apologized, taking in the girl's hay-dusted curly hair and warm brown eyes. Like Ben, he understood immediately that her world revolved around horses, though her demeanor was a lot less guarded and obviously friendlier than Ben's. He wondered, briefly, what their relationship was. With her dark skin and his light, not a blood tie, though they - _of course_. Ben himself had given him the answer - _my fiance and I_.

She waved a hand and smiled easily. "No problem, we're up with the dawn around here." Ichabod knelt to pat the eager dogs, offering a few friendly words to each - a bouncy liver-spot Dalmatian and an older crossbred, golden-furred but for her grey muzzle.

"This is my fiance, Carole." Ben confirmed Ichabod's earlier realization, and his gruff expression lightened upon her in a way Ichabod suspected it rarely did. "Carole, this is Ichabod Crane. Strike made friends with him this morning."

She raised both eyebrows as she stepped forward to shake Ichabod's hand. She had a certain grip that spoke of hard, honest work. "Strike did, really? He doesn't usually make friends with anybody." Her gaze flickered to Ben for a moment with a small smile, and though he didn't notice since he was cross-tying his stallion, Ichabod did. He suspected from her reaction (and Ben himself) that Ben was typically no more outgoing than his horse.

"Hang on a second, and I'll give you the grand tour." Carole picked up a bucket of grooming supplies to hand to Ben, smiling warmly at him when their fingers brushed and his gaze turned to her, then softened further, a faint smile edging his expression - as if forgetting for the moment that Ichabod was there, and that the world was larger than just the two of them.

The simple intimacy struck Ichabod even harder than missing his old life had earlier. He tried, desperately, to recall a time when he and Katrina had ever looked at one another like Carole and Ben. There were times when he found it hard to reconcile what had been real between them. How many secrets had made a wall between them he hadn't even been aware of at the time?

But maybe it was just the undeniably beautiful contrast of Carole's darker skin against Ben's light tone, and the parallel it drew for Ichabod that he wasn't quite ready to face yet. In his own time - though such relationships between different races certainly had happened, they weren't able to occur in the public eye. That was why he hadn't immediately figured out the relationship between this pair.

They left Ben to grooming the black stallion, and Carole introduced Ichabod to the half-dozen horses stabled in the small but well-designed barn. To Ichabod's practiced eyes, these animals were finely trained athletes - as were their trainers. Ben invited him to stay to watch Strike's workout, during which Carole also rode, on a steady, serious dapple grey jumper. Ichabod was enjoying himself, watching not only the horses in motion but their riders. Ben was an instinctive rider, who almost seemed to speak the horse's own language in the way he communicated with them. Carole's riding style was a little less subtle, but no less practiced and effective. The two dogs lay on either side of Ichabod, the female with her head on his foot, the Dalmatian with his tail wagging happily. After taking the horses one at a time over a pretty tricky set of jumps, Ichabod helped untack and cool off the animals before noticing how late in the morning it had gotten. Worried Abbie would come looking for him, he excused himself. Ben and Carole both invited him back.

"You can come most mornings, if you want." Offered Ben in his no-nonsense manner. "Could use an extra set of hands around here."  
Carole nodded in enthusiastic agreement. "Our last stablehand's just taken maternity leave. You'd be doing us a big favour, and the money's not bad - the owner of this place allocated a good fund."

For once, the decision was clear-cut. Ichabod not only needed a source of income in this modern day - he knew he couldn't simply keep allowing Abbie to cover his expenses - but he'd honestly enjoyed being around horses again. He accepted, though was mindful to warn that there might be mornings he could not make it. Neither party minded his stipulation, and Ichabod bade the couple good day and headed back to the cabin.

"There you are!" Abbie was pacing on the small front porch, glaring at him reproachfully. "Crane, the reason I got you this-" She held up a small white rectangle with obvious frustration and Crane wondered if he ought to duck, in case she threw it at him"-is so that we can keep in touch! It's no good to you or to me if you leave it here!"

"My sincere apologies Lieutenant-" Abbie wasn't finished with him. Stepping closer - closer than he really cared for comfort, close enough to spell the sweet coconut scent of her perfume and see the pulse drumming in her elegant neck, the one he'd sometimes dreamed about running his fingers down... no, that was FAR from an appropriate line of thought - she pushed the cell phone forcefully into one of his jacket pockets. The way her fingertips grazed the very top of his hipbone, even through two layers of fabric, made his heart skip a beat. "_Keep. This. With. You_." She growled at him, and he bowed his head contritely. "I will, in future, Lieutenant." He murmured. Abbie's expression softened.

"I was worried about you." She admitted, and way her dark eyes filled with concern did not aid his heart rate in returning to normal. "I got here and I couldn't find you... I worried that something had happened."

His willpower crumbled. She was still standing too close, momentarily overwhelming his sense of decency, filling his senses with her uniquely _Abbie_ ambiance. He reached out and pulled her gently into a hug. He let out a breath he didn't recall holding when she didn't resist - when her slim arms wound just above his waist, her face pressed into his chest, like she belonged in his embrace. "Nothing happened. I'm here. I'll always be here." He whispered to the top of her head, feeling the sweetness of the moment so keenly it made his heart ache, a physical pain within him.

He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be holding her, and enjoying the way she clutched him back with such determination, he shouldn't be letting his imagination stray to places they has so business straying to.

But it felt so inherently right in that moment, he couldn't bear to let her go.

* * *

**A/N - It always delights me when I get a story where my review count overtakes my follow count - makes me feel as if I have as many people commenting who fave even though of course technically many of you guys are reviewing more than one chapter :) Which, by the way, I wholly appreciate! Feedback is the predominant reason that keeps me writing so if you want to drop me some motivation, leave me a review :) **

**Horse terminology for those unfamiliar with it:  
Bay - Colour. Dark brown, black points.  
Chestnut - Colour. Reddish-brown, no black hairs at all.**  
**Cross-ties - Two ropes attached to either side of a halter to hold them still during grooming  
Gelding - Male horse, castrated.  
Halter - a head collar with no bit used to leading a horse.**  
**Mare - Female horse**  
**Stallion - Male horse, has not been castrated.**


	8. Actually

_Every year, I swear I'll start my Christmas Shopping in November. Every year, I wind up battling my way through insane Christmas Eve crowds_. Abbie blamed only herself. She half-wished she'd stayed in uniform for this particular shopping expedition, then maybe the crazed shoppers would be more likely to mind her, instead of threatening to run her over at every second. Drawing herself up to her full five feet, Abbie lifted her chin determinedly and projected a confident, almost aggressive air, taking bold strides and swinging her arms. Weather the other shoppers in the crowded mall noticed or not or it was just her own improved self-confidence, the trick worked. She no longer felt like she was about to be trampled.

Demons? No problem. Witches? Bring them on. But give her a crowd of rabid last-minute Christmas shoppers, and she was ready to bolt.

Jenny's gift jumped out at her first. She was relieved to check her sister off the list, purchasing a set of novels by some survival expert who climbed mountains for a living. Right up Jenny's alley. Irving and Luke were next - they both got ties, boring but functional. Wendy was equally easy, the latest movie featuring Vin Diesel, her longtime celebrity crush.

Then came Crane...  
It was difficult not to go overboard. Abbie had told herself she'd just get him a few little things, gifts that would remind him he wasn't as alone as he liked to think, this first Christmas away from his own time. The sale on MP3 players was her first downfall - Crane needed to catch up on two hundred and fifty years of tunes and he had to start somewhere. As she paid for the device Abbie calculated when she'd have a spare hour to copy across all the music from her computer for him.

She couldn't resist the Avengers t-shirt, though she was dubious as to if he'd actually wear it. Then came an assortment of food, mostly chocolates and the like, since the man ate like a horse. A simple silver photo frame joined her fast-growing collection - he'd spent the previous afternoon playing with the camera on the phone she'd given him shortly after arriving, and doubtless he'd eventually snapshot something he wouldn't mind framing. Then she made the mistake of heading into the bookstore.

Mistake.

She wound up discovering a package deal on classics that practically had his name written on it. Robinson Crusoe, White Fang, Macbeth, Black Beauty, The Secret Garden, Moby Dick, Treasure Island, and the Picture of Dorian Grey. The hardback collection weighed her down but she struggled back to the parking lot and loaded up her purchases, dropping in a few rolls of wrapping paper atop the bags.  
Sitting that evening wrapping gifts, Abbie recalled Christmases she'd spent as a child, putting out milk and cookies for Santa and getting up with dawn to race down to the Christmas tree. There had been a few foster homes that she and Jenny had stayed at that had been okay. There were even a few Christmases that contained memories of her mother.

Looking at the neatly stacked pyramid of presents, Abbie was astounded to find herself blinking back tears. That childhood was so far behind her, and it seemed a crazy thing to miss, given that her current profession featured frequent battles against the forces of darkness. There was so much more to be concerned over than missing her mother. But there it was...

The knock on the door made her jump. She scrambled to her feet to open it, composing herself so that whomever it was wouldn't realize she'd been crying over her lost childhood. Abbie was only half surprised to find a familiar tall figure on the other side.

"Miss Mills, is it a wise course of action to answer your door without first ascertaining whom your caller is?" Frowned Ichabod, looking down his long nose at her with something between admonishment and concern. The temperature had dropped enough that his breath steamed with each exhale.

Abbie rolled her eyes. "Come in, please." She pushed the door open properly, choosing not to respond to his rebuke. "Did you walk all the way here?"

"It isn't so far." He dismissed the walk of several miles as he stepped inside. "What is this?" He plucked a piece of scotch tape from her arm. She felt the brief moment of contact through two layers of fabric.

_Breathe, woman. You're acting like a teenager with a crush. _

"Sticky tape, I've been present-wrapping. Though I risked getting trampled in the last-minute crowds to do it." Abbie grumbled.

Crane eyed the present pile with a raised brow. "I hope none of those are for me-" He began to protest but Abbie waved his concerns away. "Gotta have something to fill that stocking with, it's not just to look pretty, you know."

"But I did not purchase as-"

"Crane! Chill out. I didn't get you presents to guilt you to buy me some in return. That's not how it has to work in this day and age."

She could tell by the stubborn set of his chin and the way he held his hands out to the side he was trying to come up with a convincing argument, and all at once she was overcome with affection for him, silly, chivalrous great ox that he was. She tucked her arm through his and pulled him over to the couch - perhaps letting her shoulder bump against the middle of his upper arm for a moment longer than was called for.

"Stop worrying about it, Crane. I take it there's no emergency demanding our immediate attention - demon hoard running rampant through Carols by Candlelight, or Godzilla rampaging through the city?"

It took him a moment to find his tongue. "No, Lieutenant. I simply... well. I wished for some company." Abbie hated how her heart leaped at the statement, how the hope rose in her.

_He doesn't mean anything by that. Anything more than the fact that you are both witnesses. _  
But she _wanted_ it to mean more. "Come on. We're going to watch a Christmas movie. Since we're on our own, we can at least watch other people enjoying the holiday season."

"Sounds agreeable." Ichabod leaned back against the couch cushions, stretching out his lanky frame. It made Abbie somewhat nervous, it was so odd to have him relaxed, instead of tensely prepared for whatever monster was bearing down upon them. She jumped up, reaching for the empty coffee mug nearby. "Do you want popcorn?"

He looked back at her with a hopeful expression, the one Abbie translated as his 'Hell yes, I'm just too proud to ask you to make it for me and I don't trust the microwave to make it myself..." look.

It was almost enough, with the smell of fresh coffee and buttered popcorn in the air, to forget the dangers of the world they were trying to save. Enough to sit side-by-side, close enough that Abbie could feel the faint vibration of the couch each time Ichabod laughed. Though a few of the jokes went over his head, he seemed to find the movie enjoyable. She noticed him stiffen a little at the wedding scene at the beginning. "You okay?"

He didn't answer right away, his fingers flexing the way he did when he was uncomfortable, then cleared his throat. "Yes. That actress is the same as from Pirates of the Caribbean, is she not?"

"Yep. Kiera Knightly, she's been in heaps." Abbie wasn't entirely certain his awkward moment had been about placing a familiar face, but she let it go. They continued discussing the unfolding stories as the popcorn sank lower in the bowl.

"Ah, that is clever writing. The pair saying the same thing in the different languages."

"Yeah, they're my favourite couple. This two though, I don't get. I never have understood why anyone would want to sleep with their boss. Besides, she's not even very attractive."

"Mm. Her eyes are too far apart."

"Hmph, so are her legs." (Abbie enjoyed the way Ichabod turned purple at that statement.) It was soon his turn to make her feel uncomfortable, though.

"What, exactly is it about a British accent these American girls are finding so attractive?"

_Oh crap. Come up with something fast_. "I suppose it's the novelty. The excitement factor, you know?"

_Oops_. The way his blue eyes narrowed upon her speculatively made her think _yes, he did know_. She breathed a sigh of relief when he turned his attention back to the screen, but she did notice his fingers drum thoughtfully on the arm of the couch.

"Did you enjoy that one?" Abbie asked as the credits began to roll. Ichabod, his head turned towards the window, nodded. "Deeply so, though certain parts were a little troubling. Abbie-" He rose, moved towards the window, tone distracted, then extended a hand to her. "Look."

Abbie let him draw her close, and it took her several moments to focus on the view outside, since she became hyper-alert of Ichabod's proximity, the long lines of his arm and chest just a hairsbreadth away, though apart from their hands they weren't actually touching. Then she became aware of the silence from outside, and she realized why. "Oh..."

Snowflakes drifted gently down, a light layer already covering most of the sidewalk outside. The street lights cast cheery glows over the blanket of white, and it was late enough that no cars spoiled the pristine scene.

"It's beautiful." The simple sight of a white Christmas filled Abbie with the sort of peace she had lost track of years ago. At her elbow Ichabod made a soft noise of agreement, and when his arm came around her shoulders, it felt just as natural as the scene outside.

* * *

**A/N - Love Actually has been a Christmas Eve tradition in my household for the past decade, but, I don't claim the idea of Abbie and Ichabod watching it as my own. I saw a great, funny sketch of them doing just that on the SH Tumblr and couldn't resist including it here! **

**You guys, by the way, ROCK, your reviews continue to make my day. Several of you mentioned that you enjoyed the horse details in the last chapter and in answer to a few who asked about my equine knowledge, no, I did no research, I am as nutty about horses as I am the rest of the animal kingdom which is to say... lots. Indeed that's part of my screen name. Brumbies are the wild horse of my country and have a spiritual meaning for me :) **


	9. Sleepy Christmas

"Well, that wasn't quite what I was expecting for Christmas." Abbie groaned, dropping onto her couch heavily, sprawling out as if she'd never move again. Crane sighed in agreement as he settled a tad more gracefully onto the seat left of her. "Mm. I do believe I'm ready for bed. Though I also believe that it's only midday, so that seems somewhat out of place."

"I won't tell if you won't."  
Crane turned his head so he was looking down at her, blue eyes appraising her with a note of concern. Slumped low on the couch cushions, she was even shorter than usual. "You did not sustain any injuries?"

"Nothing more than bumps and bruises." Abbie might have elbowed him for emphasis if she wasn't so bone-weary. He was still staring at her, and she hid a yawn before asking "You okay?"

He nodded, absently, his mind clearly on other things. Abbie sighed at the crease between his eyebrows, the edgy twisting together of his fingers. "And, bonus, you didn't hand-deliver my soul to any demons, so you can stop worrying about that."

_I knew it_. Crane's guilty expression confirmed what Abbie knew already - that was _exactly_ what he'd been worrying about. "Crane. I've already told you, you can't keep obsessing over that. Moloch is going to try and trick us, wear us down, and he's going to do that any way he can. We've already proved we can dispatch his minions already-" She waved a hand outside, indicating the latest adventure that had befallen them, a battle against a trio of eight-foot-tall, troll-like demons who had been attacking hikers in the woods to get their attention. "-so he's going to try to get to us up here." She tapped Crane's forehead gently, and he blinked at her slowly, contemplating her words through his obvious exhaustion. "You... have that much faith in me?"

Abbie couldn't hide her yawn this time, and her tiredness lent to a somewhat blunter response than she might have given if she'd had the energy to think about her answer. "Crane I have more faith in you than in anyone else in the world."

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked down at her and forgot to look away. Not that Abbie noticed, since she had nodded off, head tilted back against the couch. Ichabod considered the spare room, flexing his fingers uncomfortably. Still, they _had_ already shared a bed that one night... _that was strictly platonic_, Ichabod reminded himself, though he had awoken the morning afterwards with some decidedly non-platonic feelings for the woman curled securely against his back. (And moved, inch by inch, out of bed slowly, so not to wake Abbie, too ashamed to face her... he had acted like nothing had happened when she did get up and she'd done the same, bustling about the kitchen making breakfast.) _I was feeling hurt that Katrina had kept such a monumental truth from our relationship and I sought comfort from Miss Mills in an hour of need that would not otherwise have been appropriate. _

_Oh, sod it_.

He summoned the energy to reach for a blanket on the couch arm, holding his breath when he had to stretch over Abbie for it. Though his elbow brushed her arm and chest, she didn't stir. Ichabod tucked the blanket around her, then draped the remaining corner over his own legs, and let sleep claim him.

Abbie woke to find one shoulder and the side of her face warmer than the rest of her body. She blinked sleep from her eyes, then realized the warmth was Ichabod's shoulder, which she was leaning on. His head was resting on hers, and she felt the soft hair of his beard against her temple.

She was so comfortable, apart from the cold, it took her several more minutes to summon up the willpower to move. Crane jerked upright when she did so, his blue eyes flying open. "Oh, my apologies Lieutenant..." He muttered, getting up off the couch immediately. Abbie, well-used to his ways by now, waved a hand. "Chill." She advised, to Crane's puzzlement. "Is it not cold enough in here already?"

Abbie sighed, but nodded. The sun, unseen behind the bank of snow-filled cloud, must be setting because it was growing dark in her small kitchen/lounge room. Both she and Crane had hung up their snow-covered coats after coming inside. She headed to turn the heat on, but Ichabod of course made a beeline for the fireplace she'd never bothered to maintain before he came along. He had a fire lit before she could get the kettle boiled to make tea. (He'd chopped the wood himself, saying he found it a therapeutic pastime.)

"So, want your presents now? I was going to put them in your stocking, but that's back at your cabin." Without waiting for an answer, Abbie lightly deposited a purple plastic bag of wrapped presents into Crane's lap. He stared at them with delight and dismay fighting to overome one another. "Abbie!" He exclaimed. "You shouldn't have purchased these for me."

She snorted, though she couldn't help a little smile at the use of her first name. She always softened towards him on the rare occasions he did use it. "Nobody needs a little Christmas cheer more than you do, Crane."

The way he was looking down at the presents, his fingertips twitching restlessly, made her grin - she knew that however much he didn't want to accept the presents, he was itching to know what was in them. A wave of affection washed over Abbie. _He's just a big kid_.

"Go ahead and open them. They're not waiting until next Christmas."

He finally gave in and reached for the biggest present. It was the volume of classics she'd gotten him the day before, and he pulled each book out to examine reverently. The photo frame puzzled him, until Abbie explained what it was for. He laughed at his Avengers T-shirt, and was obviously touched at the MP3 player, though he showed some mistrust when Abbie showed him how to use it.

"These go _in_ my ear?" He held one of the earbuds by it's cord between thumb and forefinger like it was a hazardous spider. Abbie bit her tongue to stop from giggling. "It's not permanent, Crane. Listen." She turned the player on and took the earbud from him, tilting her head sternly when he ducked away from her. "Crane. Stop being so suspicious." She scolded, showing him on herself first. By the time she got up to make a second round of tea for them, he was listening to music with a expression of intense concentration on his face, muttering occasionally under his breath so that Abbie only caught snatches of what he was saying. "...recognizably string instruments... though as to the wailing screech I couldn't begin to imagine..."

When she came back with a mug for them both, Crane had set aside the music player and was regarding her with a half-smile. Instantly on her guard, she handed him his tea. "What?"

"I have something for you, too." He produced a small package, delighting in her obvious surprise. Tearing the wrapping paper, she was doubly surprised to find a jewelry box. Bursting with curiousity, she flipped the lid up.

It was a necklace, a simple silver chain link with two pendants suspended from it. One was a smooth, beautifully lined green stone. The second, silver to match the necklace, was a beautifully crafted dolphin.

She loved it instantly.

"Crane! This is one of the best presents I've ever gotten." She exclaimed softly, reaching out to rest her fingertips on the dolphin. "When did you get this?"

"Carole helped with transportation." Ichabod admitted. He had been working most mornings at the nearby stables, and the managers, appreciative of his able help, had been paying him cash-in-hand. But she'd expected he would be saving the money for things that he needed, not presents for her.

"It's beautiful. What's the stone?"

"Malachite. A good luck charm to the Native Americans - it keeps away danger and illness. The dolphin also is a good luck talisman, thought bring protection."

"All things we could use more of." Abbie smiled wryly. "Thank you, Crane. I love it."

The necklace was just long enough she could slip it over her head instead of opening the clasp. The insubstantial weight of the pendants felt natural and reassuring, as if she'd always worn them.

"Glad you like it. Merry Christmas, Lieutenant."

* * *

**Quick chapter tonight. Hope all my wonderful readers had a great Christmas, this one's for you guys :) **


	10. An Alternative New Years' Eve

Ichabod ran the brush over Wolfgang's dusty shoulder. The staid gelding stood with his head hanging down and his eyes half-closed, enjoying the attention. For his part, Ichabod enjoyed grooming as one of his favourite tasks of horse care. it was almost as relaxing for him as for the horse.

"And there, you are complete, my good fellow. If you want my advice, stay out of the mud until after you've been ridden today." Ichabod advised the tall jumper with a friendly pat on the neck as he collected the grooming supplies together. The grey turned an ear companionably towards the sound of the man's voice. Ichabod no longer tried to stop himself conversing with the horses in the stables he worked most mornings at. Certainly the owners didn't find anything strange about it - Carole often had such full conversations with the horses one might have sworn they answered her back, and Ben, though more taciturn, would speak to them, albeit in a voice too low for most people to overhear just what he was saying.

The quiet, sleepy stables were Ichabod's best grasp on normalcy, the physical reminder that there were people in the world that didn't spent their waking hours (and at times a few of their sleeping) doing battle with the forces of evil. Still, though the stables themselves gave him great comfort, Ichabod found it difficult to be around Ben and Carole. It wasn't that they were outlandish or overtly forward about their affections for one another, the way some of the 'couples' he and Abbie had seen in public or god forbid, on a modern type of TV program called 'reality TV'. But they were so deeply, obviously in love nobody could fail to see it - from the shorthand they used when working together to the way they looked at one another. It was a world full of regretful memories for Ichabod, and also of reminders so naggingly familiar he hadn't yet admitted it to himself.

When he saw the way Ben and Carole were together, it wasn't always _Katrina_ he pictured at his own side.

Eventually, after some weeks, Carole asked him about himself while he was helping her move bales of hay. Though she really _looked_ nothing like Abbie, with her long, wildly curly hair and slightly hay-and-horse-hair speckled attire, there were times when Carole reminded him of his Lieutenant a great deal. The way she dived right into hard work, picking up the bales and hefting them without a thought, was one of those times. "How long have you been married for, Ichabod?"  
Ichabod thought fleetingly about how to answer that. 'Two hundred and fifty-two years' was probably an answer that would arouse suspicion. "Two years." He settled upon at length. "My wife is..." He once again struggled to explain in simple terms and settled upon the same answer he'd once given Ben about his mare. "...a great distance away."

Surprise flickered over Carole's face. Even for somebody without Ichabod's observational skill, hers was an easy expression to read. She was so honest and she never hid anything, living so completely in the moment that every thought was written on her face. "So... I'm sorry, I just assumed, that the lady who picks you up sometimes, in the police uniform..."

"My partner, Lieutenant Mills." explained Ichabod, though the doubt panged within him. Was a 'partner' merely all Abbie was to him anymore? Swallowing, he cleared his throat and tried to steer the conversation away from Abbie. And Katrina. Some days, thinking, worrying, about them both... it was unbearable. "How did you and your fiance meet?"

"It was, um, about... wow, six years ago now." Carole replied. "We both worked at the same stables."

"Ah, I could use an uplifting tale."

Carole offered a small grin. "Not that much to tell. I was very young and very inexperienced when I first met Ben, and I was quite shy - I took me months to admit even to myself that I liked him as more than a friend."

Somehow this was striking chords within Ichabod that were making him uncomfortable again, and his attempt to push the women in his life out of his thoughts was backfiring. Unbidden, Abbie's face - with the look of amused exasperation she often wore when she was around him - floated in his mind's eye.

"We worked together a lot, though, and after a while, well... it was sort of impossible to deny that we were attracted to one another. I was still too scared to do anything about it though! So then this ex of mine came along and he was sweet and charming and easy to talk to, and he basically swept me off my feet. So I thought that was the answer, that I'd just been pining after the wrong guy the whole time. But as it turned out, the ex should have stayed an ex, he treated me really badly and it was Ben who was there for me afterwards. He picked me back up and reminded me of all the important things in my life, and most especially the people who cared about me. At long last, we talked to one another, and we've been together since then."

It was that afternoon Ichabod was cursing at his flawless memory, still turning over Carole's words, that Abbie stopped by the cabin for him. "Crane, grab your coat. Irving's got something for us." She called by way of greeting, pushing a Starbucks cup and a bagged muffin into his hands. "Look, I know we're technically meant to be having New Year's Eve off, but Irving says this one can't wait. Which means that somebody's probably planning a celebration involving fireworks of a different kind."  
Ichabod only understood about three-quarters of what Abbie was saying - nothing new there - but he nodded along distractedly as he followed her out to the car.  
Abbie eyed him intermittently on the drive to Irving's coordinates. She didn't need to know him as well as he did to understand that something was bothering him. He was too still, not even looking out the window, muffin bag untouched in his lap. Usually he would have wolfed it down (wolfed it, but politely) within a minute flat. He also didn't speak beyond a few questions about the case. Definitely not normal Crane.

"Everything okay with you?"

It took him too long to find her eyes, and when he did his too-blue gaze skittered away from hers quickly. "Yes, Lieutenant. Just tired by my morning's work."  
The excuse sounded feeble even to Abbie's ears. Ichabod Crane was many things, but he was _not_ a man afraid to work hard. Besides, she knew he spent half his time at the stables whispering sweet nothings to the horses while he groomed them.  
Worse was the way he said her title - too stiffly, too formally, without the affectionate undertone she usually picked up in the word. As if a stranger was speaking to her. The hurt caught Abbie by surprise. After everything they'd been through together, he was holding back. He didn't trust her.

_Don't be stupid_, she told herself, sternly. All this demon-dueling was making her paranoid, suspicious in how she viewed everybody. Just because Crane was tired and not his normal chatty, obnoxiously righteous self, was no reason to worry.

Except... she sort of was.

Further conversation was cut short when something came crashing down on the bonnet, thudding heavily then impacting the windscreen, which hairlined into a thousand cracks without actually shattering altogether. Ichabod let out a shout of surprise and Abbie gritted her teeth and gripped the wheel tightly, unable to see through the badly broken windscreen. She slowed the patrol car, pulling off to the side of the road, guiding the car to a halt by feel and instinct. She breathed a sigh of relief when she cut off the engine- only to draw in the breath sharply when something small, leathery and brown leaped off the bonnet, hissed, and fled into the woods.

"What was that?!" It had made it's escape on the passenger side of the car, and Ichabod had turned his head sharply to follow the trajectory. "My guess would be an Imp. The question - do we follow it?"

Abbie reached for her pistol to check it was safely in place. "We are only three hundred yards from the park the disturbance was reported - how much do you want to put on that Imp thing being the cause?"

She could tell from his expression he hadn't really understood the betting reference, but he followed her out of the car and she firmly pushed her doubts from her mind. This called for focus, not emotion. "Let's go swap insurance details." She followed the Imp's path into the trees. Behind her, Crane paused only to pull the axe that had served him so well already from the vehicle.

"I am not entirely convinced this was a sound idea." Ichabod murmured to her, turning a full circle to size up the woods around them. Abbie's heartbeat thudded unnaturally loud in her ears and she nodded wordlessly. Their own footsteps crunching in the snow and dead leaves were the loudest sound audible - this part of the woods was like something out of ghost movie, with bare-boughed pines and dead brown needles scattered beneath, patches of snowfall already having turned dirty. The darkening sky overhead, the sun setting early behind snow clouds, didn't help matters. Abbie grabbed her flashlight as the sun set, handing it to Crane so she could have both hands free for her pistol. "This isn't right. We haven't come that far from the road - why can't we hear the traffic?" She questioned. Crane stretched out the fingers on both hands then nervously clenched them into fists, a sure sign he was just as worried as she.

"Keep your firearm handy, Lieutenant. This feels exceptionally like a trap to me." He whispered right in her ear, almost making Abbie flinch at his closeness. She wished they'd had time to sort out whatever was bothering him before somebody had pitched a demon into the front of the car. She missed the previously easy camaraderie with Crane that made working with him tolerable.

Even _preferable._

"_There_. Two of them." Crane nodded to a fallen log and Abbie followed his gaze. Grinning leering, shark-toothed grins, perched atop the log were two of the brown-skinned hairless demons Crane had called Imps. They blended so well with the dry, dead backdrop they were difficult to spot. Once she trained her eye to the shape though, she had no trouble. Cautiously she scanned the area. "Three more right behind us."

"And two on our left."

Abbie carefully sized up their opponents. They weren't very big, but despite the thinness of their arms and legs there was something sinister in the strength of those bony limbs. And those teeth...

This was not looking good. Instinctively Abbie turned so she and Crane were back-to-back, but before any further strategy was possible Imps sprang from three sides.  
Abbie clenched her pistol between both hands, took aim, and killed the first before it reached them. She heard the whistle of Crane's axe and a horrible metallic screech, but there was a second demon bearing down on her and she didn't dare rip her focus away from her enemy to check on Crane. As long as his back remained against hers, she knew he was still standing. Still fighting. Her second Imp dropped to a bullet too, but then a pair of them were right there. She got in a wild shot that knocked one back, though it still hissed and clawed violently at her ankles. The second was too close to shoot so instead Abbie whipped it in the head with the butt of her pistol, following it with a nasty right hook. The alien face wore an expression of what could be surprise as it fell. Abbie kicked the still-writhing Imp at her feet right in the face, taking that one out for the count - then, with a feeling of dread, realized that Crane's back was no longer braced against hers. Feeling panic threaten to overtake her, she spun to find him.

He'd killed the first of his attackers with a clean beheading - all the rage - but a pair had ganged up on him too close for him to swing his weapon effectively. They'd pulled him down, and as Abbie bolted across the six feet separating him from her, she saw one rear up, then slash down at the fallen man.  
The cry of pain he uttered echoed in her ears.  
She fired on the move, blood spraying in an arc from the one who'd struck her partner. The other she tackled, throwing it bodily away then emptying all four remaining bullets into its body.  
"Crane!" She dived into the leaf litter beside him. He was bleeding, and his eyes were closed. Abbie ripped her jacket off to bunch against the gashes that sliced down his side and coiled over his abdomen. His shirt had been ripped wide open - she'd have a hard time stitching it up this time - high enough that she could see the scar the Horseman had left.

"_Crane_!" Higher this time, a sob threatening to escape as she used her free hand to size his collar, pulling it aside to check for a pulse. The way he lay there, molded to the earth like he was already dead, was terrifying. He couldn't die. They had six and a half years left!  
He had a pulse. If he hadn't needed her so badly, Abbie would have passed out from the sheer relief. She reached for her radio, relayed his injuries on autopilot, cursed the fact that it would take at least ten minutes for the ambulance to get here.

There was so much blood. It wasn't going to matter if she couldn't stop the bleeding. She applied pressure, kneeling beside him and begging him to open his eyes.  
Where was that ambulance?! Logically she knew it couldn't possibly be here yet but it was killing her to watch Crane just lying there. But finally, the bleeding was slowing down, though he was lying in a crimson pool. She dared release the pressure enough to check his pulse again. It was both weaker and slower than before - so faint, it was on the verge of giving up.  
Abbie abandoned the wound - it was the blood he'd already lost that was killing him - kneeling over his prone body frantically counting the beats of his heart in case they stopped and she needed to start CPR.

"Crane." This time it was a croak. She cupped his face between her hands and looked into the features so familiar now she could picture him with her eyes closed. "_Ichabod_. You can't die. You don't understand... I- _I still need you_."  
She didn't really believe that her words had any effect on him, but when his pulse didn't stop - when it actually became stronger - Abbie felt the tears gather behind her eyes and releif so strong that she followed through on an instinct that, if he hadn't been dying, she never would have considered.  
She bent her head and kissed him on the lips, just for a few sweet seconds.

Then the ambulance siren was audible, and the paramedics closed in on them, and when she frantically looked up to check the evidence of the Imp bodies scattered around then, they'd all vanished, of course.  
She couldn't bring herself to care. The paramedics assumed that she and Ichabod had been victim of an back bear and she didn't contradict them. She sat in the tiny back seat in the ambulance beside Crane while the paramedics worked on him, holding his hand and planning the telling-off he was going to get when he woke up.

Ichabod was confused when he woke. There was a horrible sterile smell in the air and he was very, very sore, but oddly he could have sworn there was the faintest trace of strawberries on his lips. This was so out of place he blinked several times, bringing a slumped figure into view.

"Abbie?"

Her eyes blinked open to Crane's blue gaze. How she'd ever fallen asleep in the horribly uncomfortable hospital chair perched by his bedside, she didn't know. His hand was still in hers, and she felt his fingers weakly squeeze hers.

It was impossible to be angry with him, with him lying there bandaged with a small, apologetic smile just touching his lips. Instead, just like when she'd kissed him, she acted before she really knew what she was doing and hugged him - careful not to put any pressure on his midsection. "This is _really_ not how I wanted to spend my New Year, Ichabod Crane. Don't you _ever_ dare do that to me again."

She felt the warmth of his arms come up, the pressure beneath her shoulderblades, and for almost a whole minute she stayed there.

She pulled back first and he let her go, but she couldn't resist putting a hand on his forehead, just for a moment. "How do you feel?"

"A little as if a demon clawed open my belly this afternoon." He replied wryly, and she smiled. He really was going to be okay.

"Worse than when the Horseman got you?"

"Well, I couldn't judge accurately. I died shortly after that particular injury, after all." He winced and shifted position slowly. "How long do I have to stay here?" She knew he hated hospitals. "I'm afraid you'll be ringing in the New Year right here. You lost a lot of blood." She neglected to tell him he'd needed a transfusion. He'd spend all night Googling the safety and history of such a practice if she did.

"Very festive. Perhaps it's for the best. I don't know the traditions, after all."

"Oh, it's not that complicated. People go out, people get drunk, people watch the ball drop in Times Square." Abbie settled more comfortably into the chair, as much as anybody could anyway. "We're probably best in here, away from the madness."

Crane looked at her thoughtfully. The avid blueness of his gaze made her uncomfortable. The man was _lethal_ when he unleashed the full, unwavering attention of those eyes. At least he didn't seem as uncomfortable around her as before the fight. "We?"

"Well, it's just a good thing I had nothing else planned, isn't it?" They shared a smile, the easy solidarity more apparent now.

Crane dozed again for a couple of hours, but woke restless. His wiggling around in the hospital bed, scarcely more comfortable than Abbie's chair, caught her attention. "What's wrong?"

"I need to stretch my legs." He fastened his best puppy-dog look upon Abbie and she groaned. "The nurses are going to kill you. Then me. Let me find one and I'll ask. No, _don't_ pull out that IV yourself!"

The nurse granted a ten-minute walk as long as Abbie stayed with him. She took his arm as he shuffled along, looking worse for wear but happy now he was out of the bed. He refused to head back after ten minutes and Abbie was already lost in the network of corridors so she just let him carry on, since he didn't seem to be in that much pain and his stitches were holding.

"What's going on in there?" Ichabod nodded curiously to the main waiting room they stumbled upon. Abbie peered around his shoulder. "It's where you wait to get treatment. Oh- you mean why are they all behaving like that?" The thirty of so people in the waiting room were in a state of obvious excitement, even a guy propping up a swollen ankle on the seat opposite his. Abbie's gaze landed on the TV. "Oh, they're watching the ball drop. It's almost the New Year. In a second they'll start-"

"_Ten! Nine_!" Chanted the room, led by Broken Ankle, who raised a fist to punctuate each number.

"-Counting." Abbie finished with a laugh, leading him into the room. "Here, we may as well celebrate with a bunch of injured strangers. "_Eight! Seven_!"

The excited atmosphere in the room was infectious. Abbie still had her arm wrapped around Crane's, his expression was bright as he surveyed the room, for once not seeming interested in the television as his gaze came to rest on her.

_"Four!"_

Abbie swallowed and stared up at him. _He doesn't know the New Years tradition of sharing a kiss, after all... _

But the way he was looking at her made her think that he might. Made her wish that he did, injured or not.

_"Two... ONE!"_

Abbie couldn't resist. "Happy New Year!" She chorused with the crowd, and Crane's eyes grew wide in surprise when a couple of teenagers let off party poppers, sending streamers cascading into the air. The nurse on duty rolled he eyes but said nothing, awfully tolerant considering this was a room full of a sick people. Well, none of them were acting like it...  
Ichabod was, of course, a quick learner. When five couples in the room shared a kiss (One ardently enough that it qualified as worthy of_ Reality TV_) he tilted his head thoughtfully, looking down at Abbie. Paralyzed, again, by his eyes, she didn't even protest when his head bent down to hers.

He kissed her lightly and very quickly, slightly off-center of her lips so that she couldn't be sure that's where he had been aiming. He _might_ have been going for her cheek...

Ichabod pulled back with a tiny smile, curiosity satisfied.  
She tasted like strawberries.

"Happy New Year, Lieutenant."

* * *

**A/N - Okay, sorry about the long wait! Christmas and NY were very busy for me and I must have gone through a dozen different ideas to finish up this fic. Hopefully you guys enjoy the end result! **

**There's definitely a sequel coming up, though first up, I've got two more Abbie/Ichabod ideas in the works that may or may not end up tying into the next installments of Second Chance. Thank you, once more, for all your reviews and encouragement! **


End file.
